


Korobeiniki

by mirrorstone



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Gregor and Tharja are a surprisingly cute couple, Gregor is not as dumb as he likes to pretend, Humor, Tharja is not as nasty as she likes to pretend, We all agree that Gregor is bilingual in imaginary russian right
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:06:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25112077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirrorstone/pseuds/mirrorstone
Summary: “Tharja over here! We are giving Donnel love advice!”“We are?” she asked dryly.“Donnel is having special someone! Wants too woo them in white-hot whirlwind romance, just like ours!”“White-hot whirlwind- who taught you that phrase?” Tharja demanded.“Am having book club with Sumia, is not important,” Gregor said, waving his hand dismissively.Donnel asks Gregor for romantic advice, since he managed to woo one of the most famously dangerous women in the Shepherds. He gets a little more than he asked for when Tharja joins in. Shockingly, no one gets turned into a toad or set on fire.
Relationships: Gregor/Sallya | Tharja
Kudos: 10





	Korobeiniki

**Author's Note:**

> You will get a slightly enhanced layer of enjoyment out of this if you've read Gregor and Tharja's support conversations, but it's not necessary. This also has some mild spoilers for their support conversations, but nothing is repeated verbatim and it doesn't include the big spoiler. 
> 
> Achilles is my tactician, which you only need to know because she gets mentioned by name here, otherwise she is sir not appearing in this fic.

_I will, I will go out into the tall rye,_  
_I will wait there till the night comes,_  
_Once I see the dark-eyed lass,_  
_I will showcase all my goods._

-Korobeiniki, Russian folk song _  
_

“Hey, uh, Gregor?” Donnel had shuffled into the mess tent like a man doing a very bad job at being unobtrusive, and hovered around Gregor’s table until he finally worked up the courage to speak. Luckily for him, Gregor tended to devote his attention fully and enthusiastically to any meal he was eating, even if it was just camp stew and travel bread. Rumor had it he’d eaten a mission report Frederick had been foolish enough to put too near his plate, and had only mentioned that the salad was especially good that day. So, engrossed in the raptures of “we promise it’s not bear meat this time, really” stew, he had completely failed to notice Donnel lurking until he spoke.

“Donnel! Sit down, sit down!” Gregor greeted him happily and thumped the table next to him in invitation, making everyone’s plates jump. “What brings you here to see Gregor?”

“Well, ah, ya see sir-” Donnel began, sitting down, taking his helmet off, putting it back on, and taking it off again.

“Is only Gregor! Sir is making Gregor feel like old man.”

“Well, sir, uh, Gregor, it’s like this. I mean. Seein’ as how ya, well, yer an awful experienced, I mean, ya knows a whole lot about- I mean. I mean.” Donnel was growing steadily redder as he stammered. He’d put on and taken the helmet off again, and was turning it about in his hands.

“Ah, Gregor being very flattered, but also being too old for Donnel-” Gregor began gently.

“N-not like that!” Donnel yelped, and then went even redder. “I mean, sorta like that but it’s- uh, i-it- aw shoot, I ain’t usually so tongue tied but...” Gregor continued to watch him patiently, with the same beaming smile, nodding encouragingly.

“No need for being nervous, Gregor promises no laughing. Even if hilarious,” he assured Donnel solemnly. Although this was far from the most reassuring thing he could say, the tone was right at least, and Donnel found his tongue again.

“There’s someone. I like. A whole real lot. And.” He paused again, apparently having run out his courage, or words. Gregor nodded encouragingly again when the pause stretched out a little too long.

“Take Donnel time, Gregor is going nowhere.”

Donnel finally took a deep breath and blew it back out again, visibly steeling himself. “And I-I-I gots a question for ya. A-about. Courtin’.”

“Ah! Courting!” Gregor’s enthusiastic response was delivered at the same volume as usual, loud. It got them a few heads turned in their direction, making Donnel wince despite himself. Gregor ignored it, draping a conspiratorial arm over Donnel’s shoulder. “Yes, is good you come to Gregor! Gregor could write book, if anyone could read it. All use chickenscratch writing here, not proper letters, makes no sense.” He shook his head in disapproval. “But no matter! What Donnel want to know?”

“Well, uh, ya see, I kinda figured, ya somehow managed to get Tharja to fall for ya, and meanin’ no disrespect, she’s, um, a mite prickly.” Donnel winced slightly at Gregor’s roar, until it became evident that it was a roar of laughter, not anger.

“Oh Donnel is already knowing! Tharja is like… like… like daisy, _da_? Is being beautiful flower, but sharp thorn!”

“She surely is, sir, uh, Gregor.”

“And you are thinking, how does Gregor grasp the thorn!”

“Yessir. Uh, Gregor. I think?”

“Gregor will share wisdom. Donnel must love thorn like flower. Tharja is spirited woman! Just like Gregor likes. Good liquor, good horses, and good women, all knock you down! Donnel must embrace it!”

“Um, uh, I ain’t got to where I can be embracin’ anyone just yet. I was actually thinkin’ more along the lines of how ya got her to like ya? See, I just got to thinkin, iffen ya could get Tharja to cotton to ya when she don’t like, well, anythin’ really, then whatever ya did must be real good! And m-maybe I could use it too?”

“Of course! So, is all beginning when Tharja tries to curse Gregor. Curse is not sticking because Gregor is all man, so strong and handsome, it is finding nothing to curse! And also because Tharja is not knowing Gregor’s true name, little bit that. So Gregor is always seeing beautiful woman glaring at him, sighing, making evil sign, and so Gregor goes to talk to her- oh! Speaking of devil! Tharja!” Gregor waved enthusiastically at the open doorway of the mess tent, which had somehow darkened drastically even though it was bright midday outside.

“N-no, no, that’s alright-” Donnel protested, but Gregor was impossible to miss, and was also paying him no heed.

“Tharja over here! We are giving Donnel love advice!” Donnel put his head into his hands as Tharja glided over and sat down next to him.

“We are?” she asked dryly. Gregor beamed at her, and lowered his voice to a stage whisper that was only slightly less loud than his previous yelling.

“Donnel is having special someone! Wants too woo them in white-hot whirlwind romance, just like ours!”

“White-hot whirlwind- who taught you that phrase?” Tharja demanded.

“Am having book club with Sumia, is not important,” Gregor said, waving his hand dismissively.

“I think it is, actually, why wasn’t I tendered an invitation to your sordid coven-”

“Invitation invited! Please to be promising not curse Sumia, she is being tender. Now, important is Donnel winning over sweetheart!”

“Hmm.” Tharja fixed him with an uncomfortably piercing gaze. “Have you come to ask for a charm that will ensnare them body and soul, leaving them so utterly infatuated with you that they can think of nothing else?”

“No thank ya ma’am!” Donnel yelped in pure panic.

“Good. I would not have given you one. Secondly, is it Achilles?” she asked, leaning in intently.

“Uh, no ma’am, um, I mean, not that she ain’t a real handsome woman, but, uh, I think of her as more an older sister. Also I think she knows it was me put them frogs in her bedroll that one time.”

“Good. My dearest Achilles has enough people occupying her attention. And, apparently, you put frogs in her bedroll that one time,” she said, in the tone of voice that she usually used when she was beginning a curse.

“I-it was a dare from Lissa! Please don’t turn me into a varmint, ma’am,” Donnel said, shrinking back.

“No one is turning anyone into varmints,” Gregor said cheerfully, taking Tharja’s hands affectionately in his and ignoring the sizzling sparks of an interrupted spell. “Gregor understands, is sacred ritual! Real man never turns down dare, frogs or no. Donnel must prove mettle! Will serve you well! Anyhow, we are giving romantic advice now, not asking Donnel about frogs in bedroll.”

“In fact, I _would_ like to know more about what sort of things he’s been putting in my dear Achilles’ bedroll, when I should be the only one slipping sinister things under her pillow-”

“And Gregor is having much good advice for Donnel! Like, things like frog are being important!”

“Uh, what?” Donnel asked, thoroughly puzzled.

“Is good story, Gregor tell. You see, Gregor remembers, we have fight once! Little lover’s spat, Gregor forgets what.”

“It was about you insisting on keeping your entire armory strewn across every spare inch of our tent, and still buying a new axe in every town we visited. And you wouldn’t let me curse _any_ of them,”said Tharja, finally swayed from the issue of frogs by the chance to expound on a grudge instead.

“ _Da_ , that. Anyway, bad argument, going to bed angry, you know how it goes. And so Tharja casts curse on Gregor! Next morning there is Risen for breakfast, Gregor’s favorite, but every time am swinging axe, Gregor is sneezing like boyar in hayfield! Gregor hits Risen, achoo! Gregor hits Risen, achoo! Gregor hits three Risen, achoo, achoo, achoo, and none of them are saying _bud zdorov_! Ah but Gregor clever man, Gregor thinks “this must be work of beautiful Tharja!” And then Gregor _realizes_ , it is… ah…. when thing means other thing, like when pretty milkmaid in song is picking flowers with handsome soldier but not really, _da_?”

“Uh… do ya mean a metaphor?” Donnel asked.

“Yes, and meta is for Gregor! Whole situation is like argument! Little thing, little sneeze, little dagger in tent. Is nothing! Not holding Gregor back, ha ha. But many little thing, all keep coming, maybe get in bed once or twice, that is what becomes problem! Tharja is knowing Gregor is man of action, not so good with words, so she is showing him in way he understand!”

“I had no such intention. I’d simply learned a new curse that morning, and Gregor happened to still be the subject of my ire when I needed a subject to test it on. And it was supposed to wrack you with debilitating chills and fever,” Tharja snapped,

“Going easy on Gregor out of love!” Gregor chuckled.

“Absolutely not. The only reason it didn’t lay you low is because I lack your true name to make it truly effective. And when I learn it one day….”

“Anyway, when Gregor realizes this is sweet thoughtful teaching from sweet thoughtful Tharja-”

“I will curse your tongue to shrivel out of your mouth and turn into a slug!”

“Gregor runs right across battlefield, where she is turning Risen into pretty lights-”

“I was tearing the dark magics that powered their essences out of their tortured husks and harnessing it to my will!”

“Gregor sweeps her right up into his arms, very romantic-”

“You interrupted a deadly spell and I nearly took your head off, you great fool-”

“And makes beautiful, meaningful apology! Gregor was wrong, Tharja was right, and intelligent, and beautiful, and no more axes in bed while making love.”

“You babbled poetry at me, like an idiot, and swore to name every weapon after me, like an even bigger idiot.”

“Tharja!” Gregor grinned even wider. “Poetry was in Rus! You learn whole other language just for Gregor?”

“It’s not as though it was difficult, I simply stole the knowledge from your unconscious mind while you were helplessly sleeping- have a care you fool, you’ll crush me!” Donnel’s expression had been in various shades of confusion for the majority of Gregor’s story, but finally comprehension lit it, and he nodded sagely as Gregor swept Tharja into a bear hug.

“I think I finally see what ya were tryin to get at,” he said thoughtfully.

“You do?” Tharja asked skeptically.

“Yer story’s a metaphor too, ain’t it? It ain’t just one thing ya did, it’s all them little things. Romance ain’t about winnin’ someone over with one big gesture. Ya gots to learn about ‘em, what matters to ‘em, and keep showin’ ‘em how ya care. That’s why the two a ya are so in love!”

“We’re so _what_?”

“Yes, that is being exactly what Gregor meaning. Good work Donnel!” Gregor said cheerfully, while Tharja muttered about the impossibility of this big oaf ever being able to form such a complex thought.

“Thank ya kindly for yer help, both a ya, I understand it real good now.” Donnel stood up from the table, beaming. “I gotta go then, lots to get started on! I think I saw the makin’s for custard tarts down in the village market...” He dashed off, clearly already making plans, pausing only for a distracted wave over his shoulder.

“Ah, youth! Gregor remembers being young and full of energy always,” Gregor sighed wistfully.

“Did you actually mean for that inane story to have any sort of moral?” Tharja asked.

“No, no, Gregor is just taking any excuse to tell stories about beautiful wife,” Gregor said, flapping his hand dismissively. “Donnel is already knowing best way to woo his sweetheart. Is in his heart, _da_? Does not need old man’s advice. Gregor just babble until he figure it out.”

“Hmm.” Tharja leaned her head against Gregor’s shoulder thoughtfully. “You’re not that old.”

“Beautiful wife is keeping me young,” Gregor said, looking down at her affectionately.

“If you were elderly, it would be much easier to cast a debilitating curse of back pain on you.”

“Hmm,” Gregor echoed fondly. Then, after a pause, “You really learn Rus for Gregor?”

“So I could eavesdrop on your private conversations, and whisper subliminal orders into your ears at night, yes.”

“Gregor is having something to whisper in your ear.” He grinned wickedly and leaned in to murmur something against her ear. Tharja was blushing before he was even done.

“You had better hope no one else here understands Rus, saying something like that in public!” she hissed. Gregor stood up, still holding her in his arms and only pausing to shift her into a bridal carry.

“That is sounding like yes to Gregor!”

“Put me down at once, you idiot, you’re making a scene!” Gregor did not put her down, wading through the crowded mess tent towards the doorway.

“Gregor is not being cursed, that is like letter of welcome from beautiful Tharja!”

“Oh you want a curse, do you?” Tharja spat back a sentence that made Gregor’s eyes, and his grin, widen.

“Oh we are very best hoping no one here speak Rus now!” He doubled his speed towards the door. “Tharja is having very good accent. Not sounding like Gregor though.”

“Of course not, I only ever sound like myself.”

“Mhmm. Gregor is thinking, if language come from Gregor’s head, why not sound like Gregor? And Gregor is wondering, does it maybe have to do with little red book of Rus words hiding under Tharja’s bed?”

“How did you find that?!”

“Ah, did you know? Romance is being about little things.” They’d reached their tent at last, and Gregor pulled the flap open and ducked inside. Tharja’s hand emerged briefly, making a few signs that any of the Shepherds’ mages would have recognized as a basic shield spell, one that would block sound as well as entry. Before the spell solidified entirely however, it was possible to hear one last thing from inside the tent.

“And Gregor is master of romance!”


End file.
